


Inhumanity to the Inhumane

by Unity Press Digital (unitypressdigital)



Category: Vampire: The Requiem
Genre: F/M, Gen, Other, Vampires, WW1, Werewolves, Wolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 13:02:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8980852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unitypressdigital/pseuds/Unity%20Press%20Digital
Summary: During WWI a wayward soldier learns there is a price to pay for man's inhumanity to man.





	

_An Ishtar Writing story for Unity Press as requested by SOTY_

 

# Ljubljana Gate, 1916

 

Vittorio's panic rose swiftly as he scurried from one shelled out ruin to the next, dipping in and out of foxholes like a giant groundhog. Separated from his unit, the advance, lost in the No Man’s Land between fronts, and surrounded by swirling clouds of yellowed gas and gray mist, he was as afraid to stop moving as he was to run headlong into the unseen firing line of a _Schwarzlose_. Yet, he kept crawling along because he knew to cower overlong was a more sure death than anything.

 

In the year since hostilities had started between his native Italy and the Austro-Hungarians for this worthless crevasse of land between the two nations, he had seen more horrors from cowardice and from courage than he could easily count. Bold mile charges into the jaws of the guns, people dying with their lungs seared from within by the gas or evaporated by shelling, and then there were the snows. When winter set in the mud and dirt became ice, but the constant rain of iron from the sky further dislodged icecaps, causing them to come tumbling down the mountainside and bury whole platoons in tons of dirt and rock. The doomed would pass in darkness, unseen, unheard, while their surviving friends ran for cover over their unmarked graves. He shuddered to contemplate such a fate.

 

Suddenly a church loomed out of the fog as Vittorio almost collided gas mask first with the stone fence. Miraculously untouched the building stood imperiously against the gathering darkness, perhaps willfully ignored by artillerists with a sense of religion. He didn’t take the time to question the miracle, thankful for the immediacy of cover, and jumped the iron gate double quick like a schoolboy.

 

The grounds were quiet, a small garden dead and overgrown as anything else, a cobbled courtyard with the flagstones arranged in neat order to form a symbol Vittorio did not recognize. It appeared to be a Christian cross, but along its center, someone had laid an upward pointing cross that drove through a fanged skull. The look of it made him shiver again. Shaking off the cold, however, he pressed on.

The church itself wasn’t very grand. It didn’t have the size or commanding presence of the great cathedrals like the summer he had spent in France to tour the great sites of Victor Hugo. It was small and square with a rounded roof that looked like it was all one piece. The windows were all narrow and neat, more like arrow slits, and he could see the flicker of candle light inside as he crept towards the front door and knocked on it hastily, only for the wooden barrier to swing open under its own power.

 

Holding his weapon out, bayonet glinting in the half light, Vittorio eased himself inside sweeping his vision side to side for any sign of habitation. What he found were two ranks of pews, with wooden dividers separating out more private sections of the church, a long narrow main causeway beyond the threshold, and at the far end an altar in front of which a nun knelt in prayer.

 

She didn’t move when he entered and he felt as though he were intruding on something private. He was suddenly a boy of eighteen instead of a man of twenty and found himself stumbling over his words as he gingerly put down his rifle and removed his helmet. He scratched his matted and muddy brown hair before he remembered to remove his gas mask. “ _Signora_ , _”_ he started. “Sister, I’m sorry to intrude on your sanctuary, but there is a war on and it is not safe here.”

 

“Yes,” the Sister said, and when she spoke it was like honey down the back of Vittorio’s brain. He hadn’t heard a female voice, especially one so full of implicit promise, since he had picked up a bit of shrapnel and spent a week in hospital before being returned to the front. He felt an ungentlemanly stirring in his trousers and struggled to keep it down as he crossed the threshold. “This is a sanctuary, but it is not safe here, the war continues.”

 

Vittorio blinked as the words cut through his sudden haze of lust.

 

“Sister?” he asked.

 

Then, after rising, she turned and his desire spiked sharply again. The sister was _naked_. She wore the long black cloak that would have covered a habit, but beneath that she was entirely sky clad, and her pale almost translucent marble white flesh was on display for him. From her perfectly formed feet and ankles, up her long legs and flat stomach, to her two proud breasts like medium sized gourds crowned by bright red cherries, long neck, and doe-eyed face with its pouting lips. However, it was her completely shaved bare womanhood that commanded his attention first.

 

Never having seen a woman so free with her charms in his life he felt as much embarrassed as intrigued. He felt the tension in his stomach like he might be ill, but he also felt a burning ache in his loins. He wanted nothing more than to cross the distance between them, throw her to the altar, and have his way with her. His fingers trembled to feel her body against his, anything to forget the war and the horrible things he had seen. Yet, he was paralyzed as she began to flow towards him, moving with sensual deliberation until they were an arm’s length away. “You are a beast,” she said still gentle, still soft. “a murderous thing, you think I would not recognize in you the sin of base desire for me?”

 

She touched his cheek. “You are a beast, and so a beast you shall become.”

 

That was when the pain started. That ill sensation in his stomach turned cold as his legs dropped out from under him like rubber, and he started to feel a fire in the base of his spine that quickly crawled up his back into the base of his brain. However, inexplicably, the fire of pain gave way to an intense pleasure that he could not help but surrender himself to.

 

His body was changing; he could feel it, twisting and stretching. Soon his uniform felt tight not only in his crotch but everywhere. The sleeves and legs of his clothes began to split, his boots noisily bursting like over ripe fruit as his feet swelled. It was not just size either: his legs were reshaping, hips pulling forward, calves and knees yanking themselves into a new configuration more appropriate to quadruped movement than that of a bipedal soldier.

 

Then there was the hair, bright brown and tawny white growing across the surface of his palms and increasingly claw-like hands. He looked up at the nun-who-was-not-a-nun brazenly touching herself, massaging her exposed sex rudely, and gave a bestial moan through a mouth too full of sharp teeth while his jaw deformed and extended. Soon his nasal structure had become largely internalized but for a bright black pad that ran with moisture, fluttering excitedly as he smelled the woman’s arousal.

 

Those thoughts, however, were becoming increasingly muddied as Vittorio the soldier became a quieter and quieter voice among the animistic drives taking central stage. He didn’t notice when his rags split around his backside and his new tail burst forth fully formed and swaying its brush through the wintry air. His long coat stolen off of someone somewhere he couldn’t remember fell away and the immense wolf moved from paw to paw, dancing as it adapted to a new world of senses and sensations.

 

He was aroused, and the woman that smelled so good stroked him in places that made him feel good, but she didn’t do more than that, instead beckoning him to follow her into the courtyard. There he found other wolves, all colors and types, some big and some lean, who sniffed him and welcomed him into their pack. Somewhere he thought it strange; there would be so many wolves the size of people, but that didn’t matter.

 

“There,” said the Sister, gesturing down into the valley. A terrible place stretched in all directions divided between two irregular trenches. The guns were thundering now, causing the earth to fly into the air in great chunks, and the dust that did not fall back to the ground floated on the air like a gray-brown haze. In those trenches, there were men, thousands of them. Not men, food. “Hunt.”

 

The Sister smiled to herself as her wolves descended the hills for the trenches. If these humans would debase themselves in this way, then she and her kin would teach them the error of their ways one horror at a time. The soldiers were merely a means to an end, victims of man’s own inhumanity to the inhumane.

**Author's Note:**

> A completed request for SOTY 
> 
> As always feedback is appreciated, requests for work will be considered and commissions are accepted.
> 
> For requests please subscribe to our channel on picarto and drop by with your idea
> 
> https://picarto.tv/runeknight3
> 
> https://unitypressdigital.com/runeknights-commission-page/


End file.
